


The Age of the Moon

by Twigo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mythology - Freeform, Romance, everyone dies bruh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twigo/pseuds/Twigo
Summary: In a conflicting age of ancient gods and man’s advanced warfare, two Empires struggle to conquer the other. One Empire serves the gods, while the other aims to kill them. The war never stops, and yet now the Eastern Empire is suddenly offering peace. Yeah, that’s odd and all, but Ludwig is more concerned about why the gods just ordained that he marry the scariest military commander in the entire Western Empire. Especially since he kinda happens to be in love with someone else. The gods really were cruel sometimes. Well...there must have been something pleasant in Ivan, right? For all it matters, with war knocking on his door. RusGer, ItaGer, PruLiet, DenFin, USFem!UK, PolHun
Relationships: America/Female England (Hetalia), Denmark/Finland (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Germany/Russia (Hetalia), Hungary/Poland (Hetalia), Lithuania/Prussia (Hetalia)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. West

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : I have a secret for you guys - eighty percent of everything I write never gets published, because I write it entirely as amusement and satisfaction for myself. When I know I won't publish, I can let loose and be utterly ridiculous. So, um. This was one of those times. I never intended to publish this, and it was purely silliness and drama for myself to giggle and enjoy. But then I was like, man! It sure is hard to find fantasy/mythology/magic stuff that's not centered around England or Norway. And y'all know I gotta give my boy Germany love, so I figured, eh, screw it. Some other loser out there might like this stupid fan-service. My reputation can take a little hit, bro, I don't care. This is ridiculous on many levels, but I also have SO much fun writing it, so don't take it too seriously pls.
> 
> Warnings! : AU. LOTS OF CHARACTER DEATH. (like everyone f'n dies eventually) Because this is a fantasy sort of set in the normal, modern world, I use Empires and countries that no longer exist (HRE, for example) as names for locations (although they are not meant to be similar in borders). So it can kinda be a little ambiguous about a time frame and all that. Half real-world and half fantasy. I will be using Finnish and Slavic gods in this, because they don't really get enough attention. I kinda wanted this to come off as a Final Fantasy inspired pile of nonsense. Like, total nonsense. But don't worry, it doesn't need to make any damn sense, because I just wanted to have fun for once in my miserable life. There. Problem solved.
> 
> Now that all of that is out of the way! To the basics : RusGer is the main thing, but also ItaGer, PruLiet, DenFin, USFem!Eng, PolHun, and LOTS of characters. Like, more than I have ever put into one story. So there might be more pairings later, I dunno. It's a hot mess. (the other main heavy players later on are Finland, Sweden, Romano, Norway, and Denmark, if things go according to plan.)
> 
> VERY SLOW UPDATES. (and don't forget to not take this seriously pls)

**THE AGE OF THE MOON**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**West**

The continents of Europe and Asia were divided into two great, vast Empires. In the West, from the wide ocean to the Carpathian mountains and up along the northern sea, encompassing many countries and people, ruled the Holy Roman Empire. Beyond the border, on the East, was the impossibly huge and broad White Empire, stretching from the other side of the Carpathian mountains and to the cold ocean beyond. Fewer countries and people within, for as vast and unforgiving and harsh as the land was. The Holy Roman Empire was far more populous, had many more languages and cultures, more science and technology. The White Empire had more agriculture, with so much more land, more industry, and by sheer harshness of their terrain alone was unconquerable. Each had their strengths and weaknesses, and each seemed unable to attain the final push needed to defeat the other.

Long had they been at war, with a set border that shifted a short distance back and forth, depending on who was stronger in any given battle.

Above the mortal empires there hung the realm of the gods. Many deities, some more powerful than others, that the men below were obliged to worship, for they had created man. The Earth was divided into six sacred astral sectors, three above and three below. Each had their own gods, with their own rituals and sacraments, entirely foreign to the other sectors.

Above the realm of the gods, there was merely the universe, governed by the Stars. What the Stars were, exactly, no mortal could really comprehend. They were merely the entities who controlled everything, who had created the universe and the gods, and no human could ever hope to understand what, precisely, they were, or if they _were_ at all. Perhaps they didn't even exist, but men honored them anyway in blind faith.

So it had been, and it seemed it always would be, as nothing ever truly changed.

In as much as the gods and the Stars and the world hadn't changed in countless millennia, so did nothing in the palace ever change, even a little.

Every day was the same.

The same routine, the same path, the same faces and the same greetings and the same smiles. The same conversations, the same ticking of the clock. Nothing ever changed, not a single thing, and Ludwig had always been exceptionally grateful for that because routine and pattern was what made Ludwig feel comforted and safe. He didn't like change, and so the dull monotony of his life was quite perfect for him. Ennui had always been Ludwig's best friend.

Ludwig was only fifteen at present, but had already developed a remarkably monotonous life.

Perfection.

And so he began another routine morning, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbing his eyes. A walk to the bathroom, a wash of his face. A stretch, and then the beautifully tedious and mundane task of dressing for the day. Everything had to be perfectly pressed, not a strand out of order, not a hair out of place. He pulled on his white button-down, his pristine white slacks, his white formal jacket, buttoned to the chin, and his white shoes.

Ludwig was the only one in the palace who dressed all in white.

He combed his hair, swept his bangs to one side as he liked, brushed down his shoulders, grabbed his purely ceremonial staff (white, naturally, with golden trim and a few red jewels at the hilt), lifted his chin, and opened the door.

Wondrously monotonous.

Ludwig stepped out of his quarters, into the hall, trotted eagerly down two flights of steps, and down into the busier entrance hall. There, amongst the crowd, Ludwig spotted his first familiar face.

It was precisely seven forty-five when Ludwig glided past Berwald, who (as usual) stumbled over his own feet as he tried to maneuver through the bustle without losing a drop of his coffee.

Berwald was the quietest man in the palace.

Ludwig smiled and called, in passing, "Good morning, Berwald!"

Berwald blinked dumbly, coffee falling still halfway to his lips, and he looked about slowly until he found Ludwig. A raise of his coffee cup in greeting, dark blue eyes tired and lidded behind his glasses, and Berwald merely offered, gruffly, "Mornin'."

Berwald's dark blond hair was uncombed and sticking out everywhere, in stark contrast to the pristine blue uniform he wore. Berwald usually stood out, despite his silence, because he was just so big and tall. A massive man, and yet he was placid and gentle as could be, and only spoke when spoken to.

Berwald tried to wave at Ludwig as he walked on, and waved mistakenly with the hand holding his coffee, sloshing it about. A low curse, a mutter, and Berwald sighed.

Ludwig snorted, because Berwald was always half-dead in the morning, and would be a little more awake when Ludwig passed him once more later on in the evening. Not that that was saying much; Berwald was still awkward and silent and strange and tripped over his own feet, but without the deathly-dark circles under his eyes.

Berwald was the Captain of the Palace Guards.

Ludwig had always found him very strange, very unusual, but pleasant enough. Berwald was on the short list of Ludwig's favorite people in the palace, if only because Berwald reminded Ludwig so much of himself in certain ways. They were both certainly quiet and awkward, socially graceless, and so Ludwig had a soft spot for lumbering Berwald. It wasn't easy to look at that bumbling bear and instantly take him for Captain, but he was, and when there was actual danger, in an exceedingly rare event, Berwald woke up like a sleeping dragon and roared to life. There was no one Ludwig would have trusted his life to more than Berwald, despite all the awkwardness.

Ludwig rounded a corner, and came next face to face with the twins.

Feliciano whistled, cattily, and punched Lovino in the shoulder to force Lovino to bow his head, as Feliciano made a dramatic full bow at the waist. Lovino's sneer was quite wide, despite the polite twitch of his head, and Feliciano was already swaggering over.

Feliciano was the most charming man in the palace. Lovino was the rudest.

They were fraternal twins, not identical at all in either looks or personality, but certain features were similar. The shape of their eyes, their noses and chins. Feliciano had lighter hair and eyes, and was taller than Lovino. Lovino was darker, in both appearance and attitude, broader and stronger than Feliciano, dark stubble coating his cheeks and always brooding.

Feliciano was the head chef. A role he thoroughly enjoyed, if only because he had control of so many cooks and could easily bark orders at them. Feliciano was certainly skilled in a culinary sense, and it must have been satisfying to him to map out a royal course for the day and have other people helping him whip it up right into reality.

Lovino was the head of the Royal Falconers. Must have been born for the role, truly, because Lovino was as snappish and sharp-eyed and unpleasant as the raptors he trained. Once upon a time, the Royal Falconers had been used for hunting. Nowadays, they were rather more intended for war, if only for reconnaissance and a non-technological way of communication. Lovino probably enjoyed knowing that he could snap his fingers and have a raptor claw someone's eyes out.

Lovino rarely spoke to Ludwig, and when he did, it wasn't exactly anything particularly kind. Lovino was the only person who didn't treat Ludwig as they would have treated the gods themselves, and for that alone Ludwig had always kinda liked Lovino. Would never have said that aloud, though, because Lovino might have slapped him.

Feliciano? Totally different story.

Feliciano had nothing but praise for Ludwig, and it oftentimes became inappropriate. Feliciano _was_ the most charming man in the palace, after all, and that was very well earned. Feliciano flirted with everyone and everything, was legendary around the palace for his silver tongue, and Ludwig wasn't immune to that. What most people didn't seem to understand was that Ludwig was very much human, and very susceptible to flattery.

Feliciano had an endless stream of it, and was always coming up with something new somehow, despite theoretically having worn out every single line in the book.

That morning, as Ludwig strode past, Lovino merely grunted a halfhearted greeting, but Feliciano skidded out as usual, rushing forward to quickly throw himself in front of Ludwig in the hall. He thrust out his arm, rested it on the wall, and splayed out in a manner so that Ludwig passing him was impossible.

Ludwig lidded his eyes and crinkled his nose, as Feliciano looked him up and down, winked at him, and crooned, "You look extra nice this morning."

What a lie! Ludwig looked the same every single day. Literally the same; not one single detail of his morning routine changed. He wore the same white uniform, combed his hair and swept his bangs the same way across his forehead, wore the same cologne, and the same shoes.

But Ludwig dutifully droned, "Is that so?"

Lovino grumbled something under his breath as Feliciano raked Ludwig up and down in a manner that was slightly inappropriate, given that Feliciano was twenty-five and Ludwig was still fifteen. But technically legal, Feliciano had often offered, and that was true so Ludwig let him flirt.

That time, Feliciano smiled crookedly, charmingly, and reached out to gently tap Ludwig's ear, as he teased, "Anyone ever tell you that you got big ears?"

Predictably, Ludwig's face burned red and his staff clattered to the floor as he reached up instinctively to cover his own ears with his hands, dumbly attempting to measure them.

Feliciano broke into a beam, gave a laugh, pretty eyes squinted up and teeth gleaming, and he was quick to reach forward and cover Ludwig's hands with his own. An aggressively amicable shake of Ludwig's head, because Feliciano was quite hyper. A friendly-ish but likely inappropriate kiss upon his forehead, and then Feliciano uttered, "You're so cute," and backed off. He picked up Ludwig's staff, held it out flamboyantly for Ludwig to take, and then swept his arm down the hall while bent over.

Allowed to proceed, Ludwig quickly skittered past Feliciano and rounded the corner, as Feliciano called behind him, "You ever gonna let me take you on a date?"

Ludwig rolled his eyes, and was perfectly stoic and blank once more before he ran into the next predictable member of his routine. Magnus.

Magnus was the most handsome man in the palace.

Magnus was also a prominent flirt, but it was less intense than Feliciano's, less serious. Magnus liked to flatter because he liked the boost to his own ego, not because he actually wanted to pursue the subject of his flattery. Why Magnus needed a further boost to his own ego was unknown, because he was positively gorgeous. The most remarkably handsome man Ludwig had ever known, by miles. Darker blond hair yet than Berwald's, darker blue eyes, a little shorter but nearly as big. Magnus had some of the biggest hands Ludwig had seen, rough and calloused from ropes. Wide jaw, sharp cheeks, straight nose, thick lashes and eyebrows—yes, yes, Magnus was _very_ nice to look at indeed.

As they crossed paths, Magnus lifted his brow, and teased, as he often did during this tumultuous adolescent period, "Whew—gettin' taller and taller, Ludwig! Watch out, those legs are gonna get ya into trouble."

"Not with you, I hope," Ludwig threw back, as he walked on, smiling away.

Magnus replied, dutifully, "Wouldn't dream of it."

No doubt, and not because Magnus was thirty-three, but because Magnus had much more of a reputation and position to risk by openly hitting on Ludwig. Magnus didn't mean anything by his flirting like Feliciano did, and Ludwig was far more casual and comfortable with it.

Magnus was the Admiral of the Dreadnought Fleet. A sailor through and through, mouth and all, Magnus was very at home on the water, having spent the majority of his life on the deck of some sea vessel. No one knew the oceans and seas better than Magnus did. Ludwig swore that Magnus could have been dropped blindfolded from a plane down into the middle of an ocean, and somehow Magnus would have snapped his fingers and instantly figured out where he was.

Ludwig loved the way Magnus smelled, odd thing though it was to notice; sea-salt and motor oil.

Another twist, another turn, another hall within the palace maze, and Ludwig skidded to halt just before he crashed face-first into Timo, who jumped back a pace with a grimace of annoyance. When Timo saw who he had almost taken out, the grimace turned into a sneer, and Timo dutifully bowed, before reaching out and punching Ludwig's shoulder.

"Watch where you're going," Timo chided, amicably, and Ludwig tapped Timo's leg with his staff.

"Watch who you're talking to," Ludwig retorted, playfully, and Timo waved him off.

"A bag of hot air," was the immediate response, and Timo wasn't wrong so Ludwig just rolled his eyes.

Timo was the most tenacious man in the palace.

If Magnus was the most handsome, then Timo coulda taken second-place. Shorter than Ludwig but quite stocky, strong, pale hair always combed very neatly and brown eyes intensely focused. Timo disliked making eye contact, but perhaps that was because it made it that much scarier when Timo was angry and pinned someone down with his sharp eyes.

And Timo was angry quite often, come to think.

Timo was the Brigadier General of the Jägers. Magnus' age, but very different. Timo was quiet, stern, serious, far more professional than Magnus and Berwald, far stricter and unbending. Timo was the lowest of the four military commanders, not considered one of the three necessary generals, but he made up for that by being the craziest. Timo was utterly fearless, harsh, and never, ever retreated. The Jägers were more of a special unit, mercenaries more than soldiers, hard men with violent jobs, and so of course an equally hard and violent man was needed to lead them. Timo was perfect for that. Ludwig had never met anyone more composed and unshakeable than Timo.

Timo was vicious in war, merciless. Timo had been berated by the other generals many times for his recklessness, and also for his penchant for executing captured White soldiers, in a direct violation of all treaties. Timo never listened, though, because Timo's hometown lied on the northern border, and was always caught in between the battles between the two Empires. Timo had lost many friends and family to stray White bullets and bombs, and took no mercy on the enemy. Timo was the sort of 'brave' that bordered on insanity. Timo walked that very fine line of a hero becoming a villain, and often stumbled into the dark water.

Ludwig was just happy that Timo was on _their_ side.

Outside of war, though, Ludwig found Timo to his liking. When the defenses fell and Timo bothered to let his buried personality out, he was quite attractive. Ludwig enjoyed him immensely, because Timo was sort of a disapproving and unimpressed but also very doting mother. Timo was the one in Ludwig's childhood who would patch up his scrapes and cuts while at the same time berating him for roughhousing, despite being the one who encouraged Ludwig to roughhouse in the first place.

Timo was odd, and therefore Ludwig's sentiments for him were odd as well. But he knew he loved Timo, and so Timo didn't scare him like he did other men.

Timo eyed Ludwig up and down with a different scrutiny than Feliciano had, and finally said, sternly, "Are you getting enough sleep? You look tired."

As he said it, Timo had snatched out and grabbed Ludwig's chin, turning his head this way and that as he studied Ludwig. Ah, mother, alright. Ludwig squirmed out of Timo's grip, and tried to slink away, uttering as he went, "I'm not sleepy! _You_ just exhaust me."

"You punk," Timo called, as Ludwig skidded away, and Ludwig was all smiles by the time he reached the grand door.

Where had been trying to get all morning.

The guards at the door bowed, opened up, and Ludwig walked into the throne room, where people were vibrantly chatting and the high ceiling glinted in multicolored shades from the stained glass windows. A kaleidoscope of rainbow, crystal, and the red carpet was as bright as ever in the rising sun. The gold railings and columns and benches.

Home, in the most basic sense.

Inside the throne room, there were three men Ludwig interacted with.

The first was the most intimidating, by far, and Ludwig bowed very deeply to Ivan, as Ivan hovered silently and icily there beside the steps that led up to the throne. Ivan gazed at Ludwig quite emotionlessly, bowing his head in turn, but offered Ludwig no greeting.

Ivan was the most feared man in the palace.

Most people were scared of Timo, but _everyone_ strove to avoid Ivan under all circumstances. Ivan was...unique. Taller yet than Berwald, broader and stronger. The biggest man Ludwig had ever seen, for sure, the most powerful. If Berwald was a bear, then Ivan was a barge. An absolute house of a man, terrifying in his stature. More terrifying because of the very cold air about him, his piercing steely grey eyes, his constantly blank face. No one could have ever figured out what Ivan was thinking or feeling, and it was that misty veil that made Ivan so much scarier. No one could connect with Ivan, no one could ever hope to understand what was going on in his head, and no one really wanted to.

Ivan was absolutely terrifying, and Ludwig darted away from him as quickly as was possible.

Which was very hard to do, unfortunately, because Ivan's dual position meant that he was the face Ludwig saw practically more than any other.

On one hand, Ivan was the Kaiser's personal guard. Wherever the Kaiser went, more or less, so too went Ivan. Ivan was sworn to protect the Kaiser with his life, and took his duty very seriously. Always, Ivan was armed, even in the most benign circumstances. One of Ludwig's earliest memories, in fact, was of his sixth birthday party, where Ludwig had been too rambunctious and had sprinted around the corner and straight into Ivan's great sword. It had been sheathed, and so no harm had come, but the icy gaze Ivan had sent him had traumatized Ludwig, he swore it. That was one of the only times Ludwig could remember ever crying, when he had burst into tears from that steely look alone.

On the other hand, Ivan was the Marshal of the Holy Roman Imperial Army. The highest possible military rank in the empire, and Ivan had earned that through his ruthlessness and ferocity. As much as Timo never retreated, Ivan never quit pushing forward, even when the odds were impossibly against him. In a way, the odds had always been stacked against Ivan, from birth.

Ivan hailed from the White Empire, the very lands he now fought against. He had fled those lands when he had been seventeen, defected, and swore himself over to the Kaiser. Ivan had a certain knack for warfare, a gift, and somehow a White immigrant had risen up into the highest of ranks.

Timo detested Ivan, because Timo had never really let go of the fact that Ivan had come from those foreign lands that Timo hated. Ivan had been in this palace for twenty years now, and still he and Timo sneered at each other. Ivan's accent was yet very heavy, in both the universal language and the native Germanic tongue of the empire, and Timo often mocked him for it. Timo had been first in line for Ivan's job, before a demotion had ruined that plan and given Ivan a boost. Timo held grudges, and despite it all Timo had never once trusted Ivan.

Once a traitor, Timo always said. Bitterness, no doubt.

Ivan gave Timo absolutely no time of day, far too focused on his tasks and duty to ever let a snarky comment shake him. Perfectly unbothered, unruffled. Ivan seemed made as much from steel as his sword.

A rather perfect story of success. A sort of fairytale, in a way, the refugee becoming practically a king unto himself.

And so here Ivan stood now, short, tawny hair somehow both neat and messy, perfectly shaved, dark blue uniform preened, and in the rising sun Ivan's great sword shone out like a beacon, slung always as it was over his back. At Ivan's waist gleamed his gun, because Ivan was always prepared in whatever means it needed to be.

Ludwig turned his gaze nervously from frightening Ivan, and onto a much more comforting sight. Above the steps, upon the throne, sat Gilbert, who leered down at him, arms crossed arrogantly over his chest.

Gilbert was the most beloved man in the palace, because Gilbert was the Kaiser.

Gilbert was an interesting man, because he looked so very regal and yet acted the farthest thing from behind closed doors. Upon the throne, Gilbert was kingly, collected, poised, dignified, strong and hard and sure. As soon as the day ended and they were alone, Gilbert smirked, smiled, his face lit up like a child's, he was playful, obnoxious even, very loud and very fun and very boisterous. A Kaiser by day and a raucous teenager by night.

At Gilbert's side, in a much less ornate seat, sat Toris, who smiled down at Ludwig and lifted a brow, twitching his eyes over to Gilbert as if to say, 'Good luck.'

Their usual morning routine, and Ludwig just smiled back and started his walk up the steps.

Toris was the most powerful man in the palace.

Toris was the Chancellor, Gilbert's husband, ordained from birth by prophecies, and Toris was the most powerful man in the entire empire, because Gilbert would have done anything for him. Gilbert was utterly and helplessly smitten with Toris, always had been, and at the snap of Toris' fingers Gilbert would have waged mindless war. That made Toris the most powerful, everyone knew it, and for that the members of the council and armies made sure to keep themselves in better standing in Toris' eyes than they did Gilbert's. Magnus sometimes turned to Toris for the final approval after Gilbert had given an order, and Berwald would glance at Toris after Gilbert's command and wait for the nod. Timo, for his part, was far more crass about it, and after Gilbert's order would turn to Toris, lift his chin, and drawl, 'Does the Kaiser's overseer grant me permission?'

Gilbert always rolled his eyes, but Toris would smirk in self-satisfaction and repeat the order.

They all took it in good humor.

They looked quite fitting together, Ludwig would certainly admit. Gilbert was white as snow, hair silvery blond, pale blue eyes tinted shades of red in different levels of light for his albinism, and he contrasted nicely with darker Toris, whose dark brunet hair and slightly tanned skin made Gilbert look that much paler. Toris was much quieter than Gilbert, more serious, stoic, and made a nice foil to light-hearted Gilbert.

Ludwig reached the top step, and lowered himself to one knee, as always, bowing his head as he held onto the staff for balance.

Gilbert stood up, and when Ludwig straightened up from his obligatory bow, Gilbert threw an arm over his shoulder and kissed his temple. More than Kaiser, Gilbert was Ludwig's older brother, as well as his best friend. More accurately, perhaps, Ludwig could consider Gilbert his father, as Gilbert had raised him.

Gilbert patted his cheek, affectionately, and Ludwig took the chair on Gilbert's left. Toris leaned forward just a bit, scrutinized Ludwig, and imitated Timo by saying, "You look tired, Ludwig. Do I need to adjust your bedtime?"

A rush of red to Ludwig's face, because, well, erhm, if Gilbert was Ludwig's father then technically that kinda made Toris his actual mother instead of Timo, because Toris had raised him, too, and Ludwig felt the pressure.

Unable to escape as he had Timo, Ludwig ducked his head, and grumbled, "No, sir. Just a little insomnia."

Toris' pretty eyes narrowed, analyzed, and then Toris lifted his chin and scoffed, chiding, "I'm watching you, child. Don't you turn into a troublemaker like your brother."

Gilbert turned to glare at Toris, as the throne room filled up and another morning of councils began.

Being royalty was incredibly dull and boring, and so naturally of course Ludwig just loved it. To an extent. He would not have loved it as much were he Gilbert or Toris, but he was in the fortunate position that he was directly involved in the management of the empire without having too much pressure upon his shoulders.

Gilbert ruled, with Toris at his side, and Ludwig?

Well...

Ludwig was the most revered man in the palace, because Ludwig was the holy Oracle. Ludwig was the only one in the empire who directly communicated with the gods, and spoke for them to the Kaiser. Every sector of the Earth had their own mortal who performed similar duties, though in each land they had different titles, and the Stars appointed a new Oracle upon the passing of the old. Ludwig could not say how foreign gods did it, but in these lands the only time any god would appear in physical form before man was upon the ascension and anointing of a new Oracle.

The previous Oracle had been Ludwig's mother, who had passed when he had been four. In her place, Ludwig had been ordained as Oracle rather than Gilbert, and Gilbert often teased that it was because Gilbert was 'far too unholy'. No doubt.

It was the most revered of positions, but it had many a downside as well. It was understandably perturbing, to be going about ones business only to be randomly accosted by the words of gods, who in communication with him forced Ludwig into a comatose state. It was exhausting, draining, took an extreme physical toll, and perhaps that was why Timo and Toris always nagged Ludwig.

Ludwig's mother had died very young, from the exertion of her position, and no Oracle ever lived to be very old or wise. Ludwig had always known that, was prepared for it, but sometimes, after a demand or prophecy, all he wanted to do was lie in bed for days on end, sapped of all strength and will.

Another major downfall to being the Oracle was that, as the Oracle was of course expected to be on some base level 'pure', an Oracle was forbidden to lie. Doing so caused the same exhaustion and lethargy that receiving a prophecy did, drained life away just as much, and for that no Oracle was ever very eager to tell a lie.

Some people took advantage of that, and Gilbert had abused that power frequently in Ludwig's youth, but had stepped back greatly now that Ludwig was older. Perhaps at Toris' demand. Simple things, of course, things a parent wanted to know.

'Did you do as I told you?'

'Did you clean your room?'

'Did you finish your studies?'

Gilbert knew Ludwig couldn't lie, and everyone else did, too.

There were times when Timo and Magnus used that to torment Ludwig, not so seriously, in the right mood. Magnus would ask Ludwig, 'Hey, is your brother planning on demoting me anytime soon?'

Timo would narrow his eyes suspiciously when Ludwig smiled sometimes, and ask, 'Do you have a little special someone? You better not.'

Ludwig, mortified, had no choice but to be honest and then slink away in shame. Some questions were far more embarrassing than others.

Beyond being the Oracle, Ludwig was also the current heir to the throne, should anything have happened. Ludwig was scarcely concerned over that role in his life, because it seemed very far off, something that would never happen. He didn't mull over it, and yet still had to engage in these councils in order to be prepared. Ludwig had to learned everything about ruling this empire, though it never once crossed his mind that he actually would.

The clock ticked, hours passed, council ended, and Ludwig was freed from his political duties for the day. The crowd dispersed, carried on, Ludwig stood and kissed Gilbert's cheek, Toris clapped his back, and Ludwig was sent on his way, this time to go study.

Once more, Ludwig attempted to navigate the maze of halls, and completed his second act of running into routine faces.

The first came immediately upon exiting the throne room.

Ludwig turned the corner, and passed Alfred, who spun on his heel and called, as he trotted along backwards, "What's new, Luddi? Am I gonna die soon?"

Alfred was the most arrogant man in the palace.

As always, Ludwig glanced over his shoulder, and teased, "Not soon enough!"

"Hey!" Alfred snapped, "You're too young to be talkin' like that!"

"Enjoy it," Ludwig called, "For you won't be around to hear it when I'm older."

Alfred barked a laugh and smiled away, and Ludwig went on down another hall.

Alfred asked that every single day, jokingly now although it had started out very seriously. Alfred had taken a very long time to grasp the fact that it simply didn't work that way; Ludwig didn't know everything, the farthest thing from, and saw only what the gods allowed. It had been one of Alfred's great fears, dying, and Ludwig had started teasing him about it to make it less potent.

Strange, Alfred's fear of death, considering who he was—the third of the essential generals. Commander of the Condor Legion. Where Ivan shielded the land and Magnus tamed the seas, Alfred ruled the skies. His domain, as it was, and it was quite befitting him, given that Alfred always strutted about as a bird might.

Alfred was by far the youngest of all the military commanders, and that ruffled a few feathers, particularly since Alfred had come from foreign lands. Timo didn't care for him, and Alfred and Ivan seemed to absolutely detest each other. Alfred was twenty-three, astoundingly young to have such power, but he had long since proven himself to be worthy of it. Gilbert trusted him, and so too did Ludwig.

Alfred was certainly a breath of fresh air amongst the other gruff military men that surrounded him. As much as Gilbert was a child when off the throne, when Alfred wasn't in a plane or on a base, he lit the place up. Had a certain liveliness and carefree air about him that Ludwig intensely envied.

Alfred was from a different land with different gods, and hadn't been in this empire for a terribly long time. In spite of that, Alfred excelled, and had learned their language and customs in a surprisingly short amount of time. Alfred was one of those men who looked and acted dumb, but was actually very intelligent.

Ludwig had asked Alfred, when he had been a child, what had brought Alfred over the sea and to these lands. Ludwig remembered Alfred looking rather sad and homesick, before uttering, 'Too many things, kiddo. Just needed to get away.'

Alfred was private with his past and homeland, but no one really bothered to ask him about it, because by now Alfred had found his place and home and was a normal part of the scenery. It was easy to assume Alfred was just from here, too, because he fit in so well.

Ludwig passed an open door, heard shrill screaming, sighed, and poked his head in nosily.

Sure enough, Roderich was screaming at his secretary, throwing paper after paper onto his desk, before slamming his fist atop it as well. When Roderich glanced up and saw Ludwig peering in disapprovingly, his red face seemed to redden even more, before he adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

"Something I can help you with, Ludwig?" Roderich asked, quite tersely, as Ludwig gave him a droll look over.

Roderich was the most temperamental man in the palace.

Channeling his inner-Toris, Ludwig lifted his chin and said, calmly, "Perhaps we can use our indoor voices?"

Roderich pursed his lips and glared, no doubt appalled and offended at being chided by a fifteen-year-old.

Roderich was the Royal Treasurer. He had started off rather unremarkably, and had merely been a somewhat popular composer. A childhood friend of Gilbert's, but Gilbert eventually promoted Roderich because, to quote him verbatim, 'Roderich is a cheap goddamn son of a bitch'.

...he wasn't wrong.

Ludwig had spied Roderich doing many...odd things, including (but not limited to) gluing back together broken baubles and glasses, patching up his clothes until they literally fell apart to avoid buying new ones, and superglueing the soles of his shoes when they began to fall apart. Roderich's glasses were scratched all to a cloudy mess, because he refused to buy new ones. One would have thought that wealthy Roderich was utterly destitute, the way he avoided spending money.

Royal Treasurer was a great position for him, but Gilbert did sometimes regret his decision, because sometimes Roderich was just _too_ cheap.

Ludwig would never forget when Timo had interrupted a council meeting, barging straight past the guards and into the throne room, startling Gilbert up to his feet. From the furious look on Timo's face, Gilbert had braced up, stonily, ready to hear of some declaration of foreign war, and Ludwig had thought for sure that the world had ended. Instead, Timo had stomped his foot and screamed, at the top of his lungs, "Does his Majesty care to explain to me why I was denied the necessary funding to provide the Jägers with basic gear? I will not have my men fighting at the northern border with _NO GODDAMN WATERPROOF BOOTS_ —"

Gilbert had winced, face burning red and completely humiliated, as Roderich had studied his fingernails very nonchalantly there down in the council.

Roderich was certainly thrifty, and that wasn't always good for the people. As with much else in life, Roderich had ups and downs, and was only human. Ludwig liked him well enough when he wasn't screaming and ranting.

Which wasn't very often, come to think.

When Roderich's glare started burning him, Ludwig tipped his head to the beleaguered secretary and quickly scuttled on. As soon as Ludwig was out of sight, Roderich started screaming again, and Ludwig was very grateful when he reached the door that would lead him to his tutors. Only Roderich could make a teenager happy to reach their place of study.

Ludwig pushed open the door, where his two instructors looked up and offered greeting. Alice seemed as perky as always, as she stood and darted over to pat Ludwig's cheek like Gilbert did and then give his hair a smoothing.

Lukas just stared a bit blankly over at him, fingers drumming the table, and he dreamily murmured, "You look tired."

He was sick of hearing that already!

Ludwig came over to the table, sat down, and replied, "I'm _fine_."

Alice sat down, Lukas opened up a book, and the lessons began.

Lukas was the most unnerving man in the palace. Alice was the, erhm... _strangest_ woman in the palace.

They worked well together, in that sense. Two strange, dreamy people that made everyone around them very uncomfortable without even trying to.

Alice was the Royal Alchemist, and was appropriately kooky. Ludwig wasn't sure if mercury or something had gotten to her brain, because she was certainly a character. She was friendly enough, very ladylike and polite, proper, but she also sputtered the most random things possible at the most random times. She would go off on tangents sometimes about old magic and chemicals and the whatnot, and Ludwig didn't have anything against that but it was, ah, sometimes unbearable, to say the least. Mind-numbing. She oddly enough seemed to be favorable to Alfred, who constantly declared that 'crazy was the new hot', whatever that was supposed to mean. She was pretty, though, blonde and green-eyed. Rather sharp in her features.

Lukas was no better about going off on tangents.

Lukas was the Royal Advisor, and also a bit of tactician. Lukas was brilliant, but was also aloof and condescending and somewhat callous. Lukas never held back from speaking his mind, however harsh it was, and for that Lukas was actually the most valuable advisor Gilbert had. Lukas was ruthlessly calculating and practical and unbiased. Lukas observed possible outcomes and relayed them, even if they were insulting to Gilbert and very much not what anyone else wanted to hear. If any of the four commanders said something that Lukas found silly or implausible, Lukas very fearlessly spoke up and told them how stupid it was. Only Lukas stood up to Timo and Ivan with absolutely no hint of unease, and frequently told Gilbert what was what.

Alice was master of potions and magic, and Lukas was master of the history of the gods and the tactical side of war.

No better people for Ludwig to learn from.

It was Lukas who taught Ludwig to be clearheaded and clever, and Alice who taught him how to make something from nothing and to harness whatever little bit of power the gods bestowed upon him.

Which wasn't a lot, Ludwig felt, considering that so many other men were far more capable of producing some sort of magic. That figured. Ludwig felt a bit inadequate.

Gilbert, as Kaiser, held a very long regal line of powerful blood, and could easily harness that latent power left over in man from the creation by the gods. Gilbert had a preference for fire, played with it mindlessly from time to time when bored in council, but could have controlled any element. Ludwig had assumed he would have that same ability, but it wasn't exactly so. He couldn't really produce anything meaningful, despite years of Alice attempting to bring it out of him. Sometimes, he could manage a little spark of electricity in his palm, little more than static, and that was it.

Ludwig wondered if the gods had stripped him of that ability when they had made him Oracle, if only to make him more reliant upon them.

The only thing Ludwig could really do was to heal small wounds, but even that minor effort exhausted him as much as lying did. It seemed rather unfair, but Alice reassured him constantly that he must have had _some_ sort of ability that they just hadn't yet uncovered. Ludwig appreciated her optimism, but was pretty sure he just wasn't good at anything. He was just a messenger, and that was all. His mother had been a proficient healer, and Ludwig never felt good enough. Always a step behind everyone else.

Lukas went over various battle plans, examples and possible scenarios, and Ludwig paid less attention than he should have as his mind started wandering. Hours later, when Lukas' lecture was complete, Alice put a large pot on the table and exclaimed, happily, "Today we're going to try to make the antidote for mustard gas poisoning!"

 _Try_ to? Ugh.

Ludwig took whatever Alice handed him, eyes glazed over and sighing inwardly.

Why wasn't he good at anything?

Alice and Lukas could control all of the elements as easily and powerfully as Gilbert could. Toris and Magnus could proficiently control water. Timo was a master of electricity (if the crackling and static around him when he was angry was any indication). Berwald had a talent for ice. Alfred controlled the wind both in the air and on the ground. Ivan couldn't control any elements, but was uncanny for reflecting them and seemed impervious to their effects. Feliciano and Lovino had a knack for fire.

Even Roderich could revive dead plants, and that wasn't exactly useful but it was _something_.

Ludwig was useless. Just a little carrier pigeon for deities.

Alice had said once that if Ludwig couldn't use the basic elements, then perhaps he had been meant for darker ones, shadows and venom and radiation and the whatnot, and Ludwig was quite uncomfortable with that notion. Seemed to conflict with his 'holy' position—

That was the end of Ludwig's wandering mind, however, when Alice ditzily threw the wrong herb into the pot and the potion blew up in a burst of fire and green smoke. They all fell back, choking on the acrid smoke, and when it cleared, Alice's glasses were crooked, their faces were all pitch black, and Lukas' lidded eyes gazed at Alice very condescendingly.

Ludwig could feel his hair sticking up to the sky, and Lukas sighed, before murmuring, "I think that's enough for today."

Thank the gods!

Ludwig wasted no time in running out, and the last face he saw was Berwald, who watched soot-covered Ludwig go, eyes wide and mouth open. Before Ludwig scaled the steps, he thought he heard Berwald laughing.

Great.

Another routine and uneventful day came to an end.

The faces around Ludwig were familiar and comforting, people he had known his entire life, safe within his borders and walls. The empire may have been constantly at war, but the capital city of Aachen had never been breached, not in four thousand years, and Ludwig didn't anticipate anything exciting ever occurring in his lifetime.

He went to his private shrine come nightfall, after bonding time with Toris and Gilbert, settled down on his knees, dutifully offered his nightly oration to the altar, and waited to see if the gods had any message or vision for him.

Thankfully, they did not, at least not a direct one.

Alfred thought that being the Oracle was very straightforward, very flashy, very dramatic, because that was how Alfred himself was, but it was nothing like that. To be perfectly honest, being the Oracle could be quite dull. Ludwig was entirely convinced that that was why the Stars had chosen him to begin with, because Ludwig was the dullest, most boring man in the palace.

A great majority of Ludwig's day was spent pondering over pragmatic dreams with Lukas, attempting to see a greater meaning in every minute detail, chattering with Alice about possible explanations for the most mundane event, attempting to discern a greater meaning out of something utterly useless. It was more of a science than Alfred imagined, and Ludwig supposed he shouldn't have complained, annoying though it could at times be.

The exception to this rule was the direct intervention, the one that left Ludwig comatose, but those were very few and far between.

That night, none was granted, and Ludwig stood up and carried on to his bedroom. He showered, fretted, and then he plopped down on his bed and buried his face in his pillow with a sigh of frustration.

He was having insomnia, alright, everyone had noticed, but no one could have ever guessed why.

So many faces he passed, so many things he learned every day all day, and yet at night, his mind went straight to one person and stayed there.

Who? Why, Feliciano, of course, the most charming man in the palace—for he was also the man in the palace who happened to be the one Ludwig was hopelessly head over heels for.

Stupid. It was folly. Could never have been, for so many reasons, and Ludwig knew better than to entertain the notion. He knew better, yes, but was still a hopeless child at the end of the day.

One more routine came then, and this one the worst :

Now came the time where he turned out the lights, huddled under the blankets, and kicked his legs in frustration as he daydreamed about Feliciano. Ludwig was very young, entirely inexperienced with anything remotely romantic, and Feliciano's constant flirting had done quite the number on him. Every day, Ludwig woke up with hope that Feliciano would take more initiative, would become physical, more assertive, but he never did. Ludwig was glad, really, because he was the Oracle and needed to keep his head clear, and as the heir to the throne he should not have been philandering with anyone who Gilbert hadn't approved of. But on the other hand Ludwig was distraught at Feliciano's teasing, because he was enamored with Feliciano and wished that Feliciano would have given Ludwig a break and made things very clear.

Ludwig was very literal, and until Feliciano came right out and accosted him, Ludwig would never be entirely certain how serious Feliciano actually was. So Ludwig just pined away, and dreamt of Feliciano at night, however inappropriate it all was.

Every day was the same.

Sometimes, Ludwig's routine was a curse.


	2. East

**Chapter 2**

**East**

Outside of the lands Ludwig knew, the world was very different. A different sector of the Earth, in which ruled different gods. Ludwig didn't profess to know of each of the six sectors, no, because he served only his own gods. He could barely focus on the studies of his own lands, let alone so many others. That said, it was very wise to know as much as possible of the gods who commanded the Eastern lands, as war was constantly waged. Once the men of either empire breached the lands of the other, the gods would begin to interfere and wage their own battles, and Ludwig was nothing if not prepared. As Lukas had taught him.

Ludwig didn't know all of their gods, but knew of the most pressing; that being Marena, the Eastern goddess of winter. There were more powerful gods, naturally, but she seemed to be the main focus of Ludwig's studying, because Lukas considered her the most dangerous. And Lukas was always right, in one way or another. The White Empire had the most notorious winter on the planet, the most unforgiving, and she sat at the forefront of that, halting foreign armies in their tracks.

Countless hours of studying and councils had given Ludwig a fairly good view of the White Empire as a whole, and he knew well enough their policies and laws and terrain.

He also knew their men.

The lands to the East had their own set of characters, each as interesting to Ludwig as his own, though they brought out more dread than curiosity.

Gilbert sat upon the throne as Kaiser of these lands, but beyond these borders there sat an Empress.

Her name was Natalia.

Under her command, the world seemed to fall, as she conquered everything in her sight without mercy. The main source of her success was the General of all of her armies.

No one knew his real name, nor what he looked like. Where he was from. Who he truly was. Nothing at all was known of him, perhaps not even to the Empress, and so all the world had merely started calling him General Winter.

Clad always as he was in armor, every inch of him covered, no part of a normal human visible, it had always seemed quite fitting. His steel armor was always frosted over, and he cast the ground beneath him into winter with each step he took. His sword was a great sword, bigger yet than even Ivan's, and Timo claimed that it had been stolen from his hometown when the White border had momentarily encompassed it. Timo said that General Winter's sword had once belonged to demi-god, a legendary hero, Väinämöinen. Ludwig very much believed him, because the great sword the General used seemed otherworldly, impossibly sharp, and it shone out on its own as if always reflecting the sun, even in the dead of night. It was one of the more potent slaps in the face that a man could give his enemy, using their own weapon against them.

That sword could cut anything; in one battle, the General had taken a step upon the sea, froze it over with each pace forward he took, and when a Dreadnought had been frozen still in the ice, the General's sword cut right through the hull. Magnus had been expectedly furious, and that was the only time that any of the commanders had come face to face with that coldness and escaped it alive. Magnus spoke of General Winter more as if he were a demon than a man, and everyone took his word for it, having been the only one to see him up close.

No one was sure if he was even human, and for it was more terrifying. Perhaps he was a god disguised as a mortal.

With him, Natalia was unstoppable, and only Gilbert yet opposed her on this side of the sea. All other free lands had fallen to her empire, and with each new border she took, her power and influence grew. Each land gave her more men, more money, more technology, more strategic points of battle, and Ludwig always felt her frost threatening to encroach.

Beyond the terrifying General Winter, there were more hands holding her aloft.

There was Francis, the Grand Marshal of the Army, second only to that mysterious General Winter. As much as Gilbert had his own band of immigrants and refugees, so too did the Empress have men under her who had once reigned from these lands where Ludwig yet lived. Francis was one of them, the most powerful, the most useful to her, for his knowledge of Gilbert's lands.

Francis was tall, handsome, strong, rather regal looking. Blond, wavy hair, always tied back, blue eyes, a long face that was very shapely. He looked more like a king than a Grand Marshal, and Ludwig had watched him on the television screen many times, as the White Empire made demands and threats and promises about the lands near the northern border. Gilbert had always grimaced up at the screen, as Ivan looked irritated behind him, and Ludwig had always thought that Francis seemed far too smug and arrogant while speaking so softly and coaxingly about 'ending this senseless conflict'. Francis demanded that those lands be conceded to the White Empire, and yet even as he implored peace and cooperation, his eyes were lidded condescendingly, his lip curled as he tried hard not to sneer, and everything about him seemed so pompous. He had always reminded Ludwig of a rather unpleasant mixture of Timo, Alfred, and Magnus. Far too handsome, far too bold, far too self-satisfied, and far too confident.

General Winter may indeed have been a god in disguise, for he never made public appearances, and it was Francis who was the face of the military despite being second in command. When Francis stood beside the Empress during official engagements, he stood straight and proper, chin high, and always played mindlessly with his short beard as the world fell around him. Looked more like he was watching a sports game that he had placed a lot of money on going in his favor, rather than crushing the world beneath his feet. Francis was the undeniable proof that a charming man with a pretty smile could be as terrifying and brutal as a god.

Ludwig wasn't certain if he was more unnerved by Francis or General Winter, and that spoke volumes about Francis' effortlessly catty egotism.

There was Antonio, the Admiral of the White Imperial Armada. Like Magnus, Antonio had spent most of his life on the sea, and had somehow decided that he would rather serve an Empress than a Kaiser, for he too was a native of these lands. Magnus knew Antonio from youth, both of them had been deckhands on the same ship, and so Antonio was the only man in the White Empire than anyone really had a personal feel for. Antonio was far less obnoxious at a glance than Francis, didn't have that same smug and pompous air, but lacked no bit of ego. Antonio knew he was on top of the world, and had that uncanny sort of swag that Magnus had. Antonio had green eyes, heavily lashed, tan from being under the sun on the water, freckles and sunspots, dark hair neatly combed despite how messy and wrinkled his uniform always was.

Antonio looked quite the charmer, like Francis, but was no less dangerous, even if his smile was more sincere. Magnus said that Antonio was funny, had a great sense of humor, that he was intelligent and well-spoken and yet also very casual, the kind of guy that could be in a crowded bar and yet still stand out.

Strange, because when Antonio and Francis stood side by side, Ludwig would have picked Antonio as the man he would have rather run into, and yet that notion was quickly shattered when one had to stop and take into account that Francis, at the very least, never ordered attacks on civilians. Antonio did, fired upon seaside cities, even though he looked so much friendlier and gentler than Francis.

As Timo was someone that Ludwig adored outside of war and yet terrified of within it, so too was Antonio that same sort of man.

Antonio's cheerful air successfully masked his cruelty.

There was Kiku, the Marshal of the Diamond Falcons, the Imperial Air Force. A very private commander, Kiku was very stoic, very poised, very dignified, and never expressed anything upon his face. His stance was always stiff, posture perfect, one arm perpetually behind his back. He was shorter and slighter than the other three generals, looked rather nondescript when standing next to them, dark hair and eyes contrasting so sharply with Francis' lighter tones. Kiku looked more like a diplomat than a soldier, but Alfred considered Kiku his bane.

Alfred would know, after all, having Kiku as his main adversary in the endless war between the two empires. Kiku was brilliant, Alfred said, always found a way to sneak up on him, and Ludwig was fairly certain that it had been somewhat small Kiku that had instilled such a fear of death in Alfred. Kiku, much like Timo, never retreated, and that caused many a long battle up in the air. Kiku's policy for his pilots never involved retreat, and he instead encouraged them to use their last breath to cause as much havoc as possible by turning their own planes into bombs.

Alfred sometimes said, in more somber moods, that he was certain he would one day be slain by Kiku, in one way or another.

Perhaps, but unlike someone else, Kiku at least didn't execute the men under him who _did_ choose to retreat.

That unpleasant attribute lied in Erzsébet, the Commander of the Black Dragoons. The most powerful woman in the military. She had a reputation of being harder and meaner than the men above her, stemming no doubt from her penchant for executing her own men if they fled in cowardice before she had given the official sound of retreat, and she very certainly looked the part. She was somewhat pretty, in her own way, with her shapely green eyes and very long ashy brunette hair, but her face was always so stern and strict. Ludwig had never seen her smile in the rare moments she was glimpsed upon the screen. She made far less appearances than her male counterparts, seemed more private, and very little was known about her.

All Ludwig was really familiar with was that, many years ago, she had led the Black Dragoons in a charge against the Jägers, and it had been that battle between her and Timo that had led to Timo's demotion.

Needless to say, Timo had it out for her, and was very derisive when speaking about her, dismissing her as a— Er. Well. Gilbert said that Ludwig was far too young to ever be repeating the words that came out of Timo's mouth. (Good advice, as Timo spouted things that made even Gilbert and Magnus blush and squirm.)

It was Ivan who would always say, warningly, 'There's nothing more frightening than an angry Eastern woman. You'd do well to take her seriously.'

Ludwig was curious about Timo's demotion, but no one ever spoke about it because everyone was afraid of angering Timo, and Ludwig wasn't dumb enough to ask. So he just took Ivan's advice, and regarded Erzsébet warily. Who wouldn't be scared of the woman that had somehow once bested a tenacious man like Timo?

There was Feliks, the Colonel of the Imperial Hussars. One of the things that Ludwig found less frighteningly interesting about the White Empire was that they still had a very large and dedicated cavalry that they used in war. Ludwig had always found that a bit...glamorous, for lack of a better word. It was quaint, was it not, that in such a technological age there was a force out there that was still on horseback. Erzsébet and Feliks shared the power of the two factions of cavalry, which was fitting as they were husband and wife. The Black Dragoons operated in the north, the Imperial Hussars in the southern lands. For all intents and purposes, Feliks and Erzsébet were identical in standing, but very different outside of that.

Surely any man of the Black Dragoons secretly longed to be an Imperial Hussar instead, and not only for the flashy steel wings that the Hussars wore upon their backs, but more for Feliks being much less harsh than his counterpart. This was the one instance, perhaps, where one couldn't call the wife the 'better half'. Feliks was the only military commander of perhaps both empires that could stand before a war crime tribunal and actually escape being hanged. To Ludwig's knowledge, Feliks had never once broken the rules of war, and that was something he could not say even of the four men here at home that he admired.

Not that Feliks was any more likeable than they were; perhaps he merely had his head screwed on a little better. Blond and owning yet another set of green eyes, there was something boyishly handsome about Feliks, even though he wasn't conventionally attractive. Big eyes contrasting with a crooked, sharp nose. Something about Feliks was pleasant, and one wouldn't have ever looked at him and taken him for a soldier outside of uniform. Had that carefree vibe about that Alfred exuded. Feliks was very egotistical like Francis, very outwardly charming like Antonio, very poised like Kiku, and very fearless like Erzsébet. Taking the best of qualities of the others without treading messily into their disadvantages. A brilliant, strong, brave soldier, but one who was just sane enough to pull back before he crossed the line. Ludwig was surprised that Feliks was such a low rank, when he could have so easily have been in Francis' position. Perhaps it was Feliks' own desire, to remain at a low enough rank where it was easy enough not to meddle in the more blatant war crimes of his companions.

Feliks was as catty as Francis, though, and seemed to enjoy the camera far more than the others, always smiling away very charmingly whenever he was on screen, running his hand through his hair in self-satisfaction, making the most of his brief conferences as if he were winning some award.

Toris absolutely detested Feliks, hated everything about him, and once when Feliks had been crooning away on behalf of private Erzsébet in an Imperial address, Toris had spat, 'Look at that jerk! He looks like he's auditioning for some goddamn movie. What a creep.'

Toris was hard to ruffle, but something about Feliks' pride and ego and smugness seemed to do it, despite Feliks being the least offensive of the commanders. Ludwig didn't fret over Feliks, when he seemed to be the only one who followed all the rules.

There was Eduard, the Empress' personal tactician, and also the foremost engineer of the Empire. It was with his brilliance and technological advances that gave Natalia such an edge in war, and for him alone was Natalia able to match Gilbert. Every time their empire put forth groundbreaking new technology meant for war, it seemed that Eduard would find a way to amplify it and enhance it, catching up far too quickly.

Eduard was Lukas' twin in many ways. Smart, collected, calm, aloof, very literal and very poised. Seemed to know a lot about a lot, Eduard, and Lukas naturally considered Eduard to be his 'arch-nemesis', because Lukas wanted to have a little bit of drama in his life as well, so he said. Couldn't let the military men have all the fun.

Hardly a rivalry, when Eduard and Lukas were both so buried in their books that they probably often forget the entire world outside existed, let alone each other.

Ludwig didn't know much about Eduard beyond that, and didn't know what he looked like.

There was Yao, the Captain of the Empress' personal guards. As Ivan guarded Gilbert, so Yao guarded Natalia, though Yao's position reflected more of Berwald's than Ivan's. He was always hovering beside the Empress like a second shadow, long hair tied back and dark eyes always scanning the room for any threat. He held himself straight as an arrow, face absolutely blank. From the far East, like Kiku, with darker hair and skin, eyes almond shaped and covered by that monolid, cheeks high and jaw wide. Bigger than Kiku, more muscular and powerful, but not so tall. Like Kiku, Yao looked rather slight compared to the other men around him, but no less dangerous. Not someone any sane person would have picked a fight with. Yao was entrusted with the Empress' life for a reason, always armed like Ivan, sword and gun at either side of him. Yao's uniform was pitch-black, ominous, making him look more like a shadow than a man, something frightening and otherworldly.

With Yao always there guarding, Natalia was safe, immune to harm, impervious.

No one dared to attempt to assassinate the Empress, knowing they would never have gotten past her bodyguard.

There was Irina, Natalia's sister. Older than Natalia but unable to rule, for Irina was something of Natalia's Oracle, though in those lands she was instead called a Soothsayer. In the White Empire, no oracle of any form could rule, such was their law.

Everyone did have their little arch-rival, Ludwig supposed. Gilbert had Natalia, Lukas had Eduard, Berwald had Yao, Ivan had Francis, Magnus had Antonio, Alfred had Kiku, Timo had Erzsébet, Toris had Feliks, and so that meant that Irina was Ludwig's... _rival_.

A ridiculous word to attach to a holy messenger of the gods.

But Ludwig could like a little drama, just like Lukas, and so sometimes considered Irina his competition, because everyone else had someone that they could call an equal. Ludwig would rather consider Irina his rival than that terrifying General Winter, at any rate, because that would have been the only other choice. Gladly.

Irina was a bit older than her sister, in her early forties perhaps, shorter and stockier than Natalia. Less pretty, but also more approachable. Had a much gentler air about her than her sister, naturally being their oracle, and one would gladly have had Irina standing before them than Natalia. Irina's short hair and big eyes made her look a little younger than she was, but it was clear enough whenever she was glimpsed how perpetually tired she looked.

Ludwig understood why.

He didn't know how the gods of that realm treated their messenger, if they succumbed the same way, but if Ludwig's mother had been any indication, Irina was probably very close to the end of her road. Those dark circles always under her eyes whenever she placed a hand on her heart and addressed her Empire in a hopeful decree.

As much as Ludwig was looked to as a holy beacon, so was Irina, and it was her job more than anything just to give tired people hope. People who were sick of war and death, desperate for something to cling to. Irina spoke gently, her voice soft and breathy and pretty, and always she was smiling, however exhausted she seemed.

More than rival, Ludwig looked to Irina more as something to emulate. What he should be, perhaps, how he should conduct himself. Ludwig wasn't sociable, had never been put on a pedestal before the masses and expected to deliver a decree of hope, and so perhaps he admired Irina for that.

She seemed less of a carrier pigeon and more of a lighthouse.

Ludwig envied her ability to gracefully rise up to her burdens and offer hope and comfort in the middle of a centuries old skirmish.

He should have been more like her.

As for Natalia herself...

Ludwig found her the most frightening of the lot, even more than General Winter and Francis, for Natalia was the woman who controlled such men. What did that say of her?

Men who could have owned the world themselves stopped in their tracks and bowed to her will. Francis could have so easily become an emperor unto himself, General Winter could have frozen the world over and done as he would with it, but both of them had stopped short of testing Natalia's wrath and served it instead.

She was beautiful, almost eerily so. The prettiest woman Ludwig had ever laid eyes upon, and indeed even stoic Toris sometimes watched her on the screen and uttered to himself, 'She really is stunning.' Gilbert seemed far less taken with her face, rolled his eyes, and viewed her as more of a very unpleasant obstacle.

Gilbert's obstacle to owning the world, perhaps. The Holy Roman Empire was as guilty of conquering free lands as much as the White Empire, true, and maybe if Natalia hadn't been so good at war, Gilbert would have already laid claim to many more Eastern lands.

Natalia walked so gracefully, gliding along more than anything, always dressed very regally, in long, heavy dresses that trailed far behind her. Blue, more often than not, contrasting with Gilbert's penchant for red in the throne room. Her blond hair fell down her back like a glossy pool, dark blue eyes piercing and stern and void of all emotion, like Lukas'. Her chin was always high, every step she took perfectly calculated. The very image of a wintry queen, perfectly dignified even as she stepped on the backs of men and countries.

The world feared Natalia, but no one in these lands was more wary of her than Ivan, who knew far too personally what she was capable of. Ivan had defected for a reason, after all, and always Ivan was hanging on her every word, anxiously awaiting her next move. Ivan was afraid of absolutely nothing, but Natalia may have elicited the closest thing to fear that Ivan was capable of feeling.

Ludwig feared Natalia only because her greatest objective seemed to be Gilbert's destruction, though she had yet to declare a full-scale holy war.

Gilbert wasn't afraid of her, but detested her more than he could ever put into words. It was easy to see that hatred upon his face whenever she was on screen.

Such was Ludwig's life.

Ludwig had grown up watching Ivan and Gilbert hovering over a map, Magnus and Alfred and Timo standing just a step back, and together all of them plotted ways to stave off the Empress and take her lands in turn.

Ludwig knew them all, yes, but wary as he was of them all, they held no true sway over Ludwig's life, because they were far away and in a foreign land, behind their own border. Timo so fiercely protected the northern border, Magnus kept watch over the turbulent seas, Alfred secured the air with no doubt, and Ivan was positively impenetrable. Ludwig was safe, and so how frightening those Whites were didn't matter in the end. And besides, there was some young man his age in the White Empire right now, who looked at those same men Ludwig admired and saw them as terrifying.

Perspective, was all. There was no real good or evil, black nor white. Merely different people with different opinions.

White civilians along the northern border feared Timo as much as Holy Roman civilians along the coast feared Antonio.

All Ludwig needed to be worried about in his own life, really, was making a fool of himself in front of Feliciano.

And that seemed more and more likely with every single day that passed, as Feliciano whistled at him down the hall and made Ludwig trip over his own feet.

_Oh_ , had anyone ever been more hopelessly awkward than him?

Ludwig's perfectly monotonous routine began changing ever so slightly, because suddenly Feliciano was changing up when and where he appeared. Oftentimes nowadays he materialized before Ludwig entirely alone, apparently having suddenly desired to ditch his twin when encountering Ludwig.

No secret as to why, because in the past few months Feliciano had been holding Ludwig longer and longer, and so Ludwig began leaving earlier to account for the precious minutes Feliciano was determined to rob him of. And now when Feliciano stopped Ludwig in the hall by splaying out, he would raise up his other hand and sometimes run it down the line of buttons on Ludwig's jacket. Other times, down his cheek. Sometimes over his hair. When there were fewer people in the hall, sometimes Feliciano would smile very handsomely and run his hand instead very slowly down the back of Ludwig's neck as he steadily pulled Ludwig in towards him while doing so.

Ludwig just swallowed, blazed red, and stood still and dazed like a fawn until Feliciano let him go, and then Ludwig blinked a few times and took a minute to figure out how to walk again.

Feliciano was growing ever bolder, but had yet to spell it out loud. Fear of Gilbert, no doubt, because no royal chef ever wanted to be atop his own chopping block.

More awkward months passed, as Ludwig steadily turned sixteen.

Feliciano, perhaps feeling more confident with a sixteen-year-old, suddenly began appearing in the evenings as well. When Ludwig would leave Toris and Gilbert to go to his private shrine, the stone hallway quiet and dim, he would round the corner and see Feliciano leaning there expectantly.

Had nearly given Ludwig a heart attack the first time, to see Feliciano lurking there in the dark. Feliciano had been very quick to sweep forward, bow, and then dramatically extend his arm, asking, so charmingly, "May I have the honor of escorting the Oracle to his shrine?"

Ludwig's face blazed so red that it was painful, but he nodded all the same.

Next thing he knew, he was arm in arm with Feliciano, who walked him through the empty hall and out through the wrought iron door. The air outside was cool, the moon up on high, the flowers along the stone path pale and pastel in the moonlight. It was pretty outside, but Ludwig's eyes had been locked entirely on Feliciano, mesmerized as he was by him. Feliciano smiled over at him, confidently, teeth gleaming in the pale light and eyes lit up amber. When Feliciano walked him across the small bridge over the creek and towards the shrine, tucked into the trees, Ludwig had almost forgotten why he was even here.

Feliciano hypnotized Ludwig far more than the gods ever could, and when they stepped off the bridge and were before the shrine, Ludwig just stood inert within Feliciano's arm, staring over at him in a daze.

No doubt fully aware of the effect he had, Feliciano smirked, and reached up with his other hand to run it down Ludwig's neck.

"Well?" Feliciano teased, quietly. "Aren't you going to go pray?"

Ludwig jumped a little, and nodded very dumbly, although he stood yet still.

Feliciano snorted and tugged Ludwig along, before putting him at the door of the shrine and pushing him gently forward.

"Go on, then! I'll wait."

Another dumb nod, and Ludwig finally broke free of Feliciano's spell and darted inside. Couldn't say that he was exactly focused, however, when he lowered himself down to his knees before the altar and lit the candles. Actually, he just stared blankly ahead at the wall, heart hammering, and didn't ever actually start praying.

Maybe that was for the best, because Feliciano didn't wait, despite his claims.

The door behind him opened up, and Feliciano slipped inside the shrine, brazenly, leaning up against the wall and meeting Ludwig's eyes when Ludwig looked over his shoulder.

Some men had more respect for the gods than others, and Feliciano was certainly a man that very much lacked the devotion of an Oracle. That was fine, because Feliciano shouldn't have been expected to be as mindlessly devout as Ludwig when this was Ludwig's entire purpose. That said, it was certainly a bit bold of him to enter this holy shrine with whatever obviously unholy thoughts he was having.

Not that Ludwig would have rather not had him there.

He was all mixed up.

Feliciano crossed his arms over his chest, smirking away, and from his quirked brow, it was very clear that Feliciano was thinking, 'You're not accomplishing much.'

Couldn't focus; Feliciano was far too handsome in the candlelight.

If Ludwig stayed on his knees then and turned back to the altar, it was because he was too nervous to stand up and put himself once more into Feliciano's hands.

He took his time, did he ever, even though he didn't once actually start praying, and it was very likely that Feliciano was onto him.

A step on the stone floor, and then another, and Ludwig held his breath as Feliciano came up behind him, very slowly and purposefully. A shadow fell over him, always shifting in the candlelight, and Ludwig jumped in alarm when fingers suddenly reached out and very lightly brushed the base of his hair.

A shiver.

Ludwig really should have known that letting a man like Feliciano lead him to a private, isolated spot would only end in one manner, and it was a certain panic that rose up then. Fear of the unknown. Ludwig pulled himself to his feet, turned neatly on his heel, and tried very hard to make it to the door.

He failed. Miserably.

Feliciano, with the reflexes of a hunting cat, pounced upon Ludwig, grabbing his collar in one hand and his arm in the other. A spin, a whirl, a daze, and the next thing bewildered Ludwig knew, Feliciano had pressed him up against the stone wall of the shrine.

Feliciano's palms rested on either side of Ludwig to keep him in place.

Terrified and anxious but yet also oddly giddy, Ludwig stared at Feliciano straight on without blinking. Not out of bravery or anything, nah—he was just too dumb to move.

Feliciano knew that Ludwig couldn't lie, as much as everyone else did, and very abruptly asked, in that low voice, "Do you always run from me because you dislike me?"

From the smirk on Feliciano's face, he very much already knew the answer to that question before he had asked it, but Ludwig was trapped in a rather helpless position as Feliciano pressed him for a response.

What could he do?

His pride was on the line, yes, but pride wasn't quite worth having his very life drained away, and, at any rate, being right here under Feliciano's arms was where he desperately wanted to be.

So Ludwig finally bit down his ego, lowered his eyes to Feliciano's chest, and muttered, "No."

Feliciano leaned in closer, his voice ever deeper when he whispered, "Why do you always run from me, then?"

Ludwig could feel his face blazing red as Feliciano tormented him, and Ludwig in some way listened desperately then for footsteps, for someone to come along, for someone to cross the bridge and save him from this man.

No one did, naturally, because no one else set foot here, and Ludwig's voice nearly gave out when he answered, "You make me nervous."

"Oh?" Feliciano teased, as he leaned in and his nose brushed against Ludwig's cheek. Ludwig turned his head away ever so slightly, as Feliciano's warmth became quite unbearable. Couldn't stand this torture, really couldn't, Feliciano was playing with him like a cat, alright, and Ludwig wasn't sociable enough to handle it.

Feliciano lowered his head, his nose pressed into Ludwig's neck, his fresh stubble scraping against Ludwig's collar, and by then Ludwig wasn't sure if that heat was coming from Feliciano or himself. Far too warm suddenly, despite the cold air, and when Feliciano kissed his neck, Ludwig closed his eyes. He didn't know what to do or what to say.

Helpless.

Everything he wanted and yet what he was terrified of more than anything, and Feliciano must have known that, for he snorted airily and then pulled back.

Ludwig dared to open his eyes and glance over, as Feliciano stared him down.

One more time, Feliciano used Ludwig's honesty against him, and asked, "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Oh, not fair—

He must have looked a fool, for he certainly felt very dumb when he uttered, gruffly, "Yes."

No, wait, he hadn't meant to say _that_ , not that, really, he was just confused.

No time to panic; Feliciano's smile abruptly softened, his eyes lidded, something in his air shifted, and before Ludwig could think too much about it, Feliciano had suddenly pressed forward and kissed him.

The stars spinning up in his head were confusing, but very welcome.

As Feliciano's hands rested on the wall on either side of him, Ludwig reached up, without thinking, and placed his hands on Feliciano's waist. Seemed the natural thing to do, and Ludwig's intense awkwardness led his actions. Didn't know what he was doing, and it was painfully obvious.

When Feliciano pulled back, his eyes flitted over Ludwig's face, and then he snorted.

"You're cute," was the low tease, and Feliciano moved again, this time to grab Ludwig's hand. A kiss atop it, and Feliciano murmured, so charmingly, "May I escort you back to your chambers?"

Yes, please.

No, wait, no, not that, couldn't have Feliciano anywhere near his bedroom alone—

Ludwig opened his mouth, but it was too late, for Feliciano was already tugging him along again, as dumbfounded Ludwig stumbled along beside him, and then far too quickly they stood before Ludwig's door.

Feliciano's quirked brow and twitching lips gave away his very mischievous sentiments. Ludwig, very fascinated by him, was suddenly less concerned with where he was and more interested in the size of Feliciano's hands and the thickness of his hair and brows. Feliciano was handsome, knew he was handsome, and had that swagger about him accordingly, that effortless air of confidence and arrogance, and Ludwig was out of nowhere suddenly painfully aware that the top four buttons of Feliciano's shirt were undone, wide open, his thick chest hair visible.

Ludwig wasn't sure, but he might have swallowed.

Time to go to bed.

He found his feet, managed to squirm out of Feliciano's grip, and said, "Thank you. Goodnight."

He unlocked his door and tried to slink in, but once more Feliciano was too quick for him, reaching out to grab the door in his hand before Ludwig could close it. For extra security, Feliciano thrust his steel-toed boot into the frame, so that his fingers wouldn't get crushed should Ludwig panic.

Feliciano once more pinned Ludwig down with his eyes, and asked, in a whisper, "Can I come in for a while?"

Ludwig knew very well that he should have said 'no'. Knew better than that, he did, he wasn't stupid, knew what Feliciano wanted, knew that this was probably going to get one of them in trouble. But the moon streaming in from behind Ludwig lit up Feliciano's eyes once more, Ludwig was mesmerized by him for the millionth time, and so he let go of the door and took a step back.

Feliciano immediately snuck in, shut the door behind him, and Ludwig knew he was being foolish.

Gilbert would wring his neck if he found out.

Feliciano took a short walk around Ludwig's chambers, scoping everything out, chin high and shoulders squared, as if he were looking at his own new quarters, and it was pretty clear that Feliciano had every intention of making himself at home here. As a wolf would have observed his new territory.

After a moment of stalking about, Feliciano sat on the edge of Ludwig's bed, and said, "I knew eventually you'd let me take you on a date."

Ludwig grimaced and furrowed his brow, because this hardly seemed like much of a date (not that he would know). He had envisioned something far more romantic, dinner and the whatnot. Feliciano using his culinary skills to make something cute to impress Ludwig. Flowers, candles. That sort of thing.

Feliciano patted the space beside of him, and Ludwig obeyed like a dog and came over, sitting down warily. The gap he kept between himself and Feliciano lasted for an entire three nanoseconds, before Feliciano threw his arm over Ludwig's shoulder and hauled him in. A hand on his chin forced his head up, twisted it, and Feliciano kissed him again, perhaps realizing that it was better just to do things without asking.

Toris had told Ludwig growing up, over and over and over again, not to ever take flattery to heart, because he was the heir to the throne and the Oracle, and men only sought out power. Ludwig knew it, he did, but he also knew that Feliciano's hands were very warm. Rough and calloused, from years in the kitchen.

Ludwig leaned into Feliciano, raised his own hand up to rest it on the back of Feliciano's neck, and that was easily one of Ludwig's happier moments, twisted at the side on the edge of his bed, kissing the man he had dreamt about for years.

A long hour of Feliciano nuzzling him, kissing him, teasing him, and then suddenly Feliciano stood up. Ludwig watched with relief (and perhaps a little disappointment), as Feliciano went to the door and clearly meant to leave.

He looked over his shoulder at the last second, and said, "See? That wasn't so scary, was it?"

Ludwig smiled, dumbly, and shook his head, a burning rush of adoration searing its way from his stomach to his chest.

Feliciano smiled prettily at him, shot him a wink, and then was gone. Just like that. All that fear and anxiety, for nothing. Feliciano sensed every bit of Ludwig's fear, and worked his way up slowly.

Toris and Gilbert's words of warning faded from Ludwig's ears, and when Ludwig woke up the next morning, the world seemed far more beautiful.

When Feliciano saw him that morning, he bowed at the waist, took Ludwig's hand, and kissed the top of it very brazenly there in front of the crowds. Lovino rolled his eyes, as Ludwig drifted in the clouds.

That night, Feliciano once more escorted him to and from his shrine, and slipped yet again into Ludwig's chambers.

It quickly became another routine.

For once, his dull life had a little shine to it, a little excitement, a little something to look forward to. Feliciano lit up Ludwig's chambers as much as he did the rest of the world around him, and Ludwig smiled more than he ever before.

Everything seemed so perfect suddenly.

Surely nothing could have gone wrong.

Nothing ever changed, after all, and Ludwig was looking forward to that.


End file.
